The Road to El 221B
by Believe4Ever
Summary: It is said that long ago, a mysterious city was built by people who were thought to be gods themselves. It's a beautiful place full of gold, mystery, adventure, and the most delicious jam known to man. *Sherlocked El Dorado. Cute puns here and there. Randomness in places. Rating MAY change to T later on*


**There is this artist on DeviantArt (I believe by the name superfizz) who draws pictures of Sherlock and John in El Dorado. I love the pictures. So I decided that I would write a fiction of the entire story instead of just little snippets of scenes like the artist is doing. I hope you people who have clicked on this story enjoy it! (it was hard to decide who would be what character!)**

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"Today we are sailing to conquer the New World!" a man clad in a blue body suit, black hair, and an angered sneer announced, sitting on a beautiful white horse.

In London, the government was anything but . . . reliable. Her Majesty had gone through a few hardships, including a heinous sex scandal conducted by a nameless woman that was never found. So she had ordered someone from the military, this loud man who sat on the horse now, to go and conquer America. Little was known of this mysterious land, other than the people there—if there were, indeed, people—were probably lazy and unintelligent, having never seen anyone outside of their own little world and probably never had anything close to a necessary education. This would be easy indeed.

"For gold!" the ill-faced man shouted. Many cheered with his announcements and several others of the military fired off their rounds in celebration.

The horse that he had been sitting on jumped at the sound, rearing up and neighing in fright. He gripped the reins and jerked them, settling the horse with force. "Lestrade!" he hissed. "Eyes forward!"

The man looked down at the cup in his hand, filled with diluted water. It was half empty with most of it splashing onto his chest from the rearing horse. He rolled his eyes and tossed it behind him. The cup smacked against a wanted poster hanging on the building behind him. Water splashed across the page, soaking the pictures of two of the most wanted people in all of London.

()()()

At that moment, in fact, these two men were in a back alley somewhere near center London, gambling with a few brutes.

"Seven!" the taller one muttered as he rolled the dice. He had curled black hair covering his head with his long thin face. His eyes were narrowed slightly in boredom as he tossed the dice. His attire was a long black trench coat covering his regular slacks and shirt, with a scarf pulled tightly around his neck.

"Brilliant!" the other awed, grinning from ear to ear. He had a short buzzed haircut and a slight slouch. It was thought that he had a limp, but one day it seemed to disappear miraculously so people assumed that it must've been their imagination he ever had it at all. He was wearing a yellow jumper and ordinary pants.

"So much gold for us, Sherlock!" the shorter one cheered, grabbing his friend's violin—though he couldn't play it very well anyway.

"Boring, John," the raven-haired man muttered, standing up tall as his other friend danced excitedly around him.

"Hey!"

They turned back to see the man they had been gambling with glaring at them. He was an elder man with whitish hair he kept tucked under a flat cap. His glasses hung on the end of his nose and his teeth were very crooked. He had a pot belly that was covered by his shirt and coat. To most he was known as "Cabbie".

"One more roll," Cabbie growled.

Sherlock glanced at John, who just grinned back. The taller one sighed. "Cabbie, you're broke. You have nothing left to bet."

The elder grinned and glanced at his other associates. "I got this," he admitted, taking out a scroll of paper. He unraveled it to reveal an old yellowing map full of symbols and interesting paths.

"A map?" Sherlock muttered in a bored tone.

"A map!" John called, shoving his way past his friend to get a closer look.

Cabbie grinned, knowing he had John's attention. "A map of the wonders of the New World."

"Well let's have a look . . ." He grabbed the map from his hands and looked closer. Sherlock rolled his eyes and started to turn away. "Sherlock!" John grabbed him and jerked him down, smacking his face against the paper.

"Excuse us for one moment," Sherlock mumbled, looking away from Cabbie and hiding his face using the paper.

Behind the paper, John was grinning wide and looking at Sherlock excitedly. "221B. The fabled flat of gold! This could be our destiny—our fate!"

"If I believed in fate I wouldn't even consider playing with something as trivial as loaded dice, John!" Sherlock showed the pair of dice he had rolled before, its red color gleaming in the light.

"You owe me," John challenged.

"From what?"

"You know from what."

"I believe I don't."

"The fall?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his head. "That was a _con,_ John!"

"You led me to believe that you were dead!"

"I had to!"

"I said one more roll!" Cabbie roared, ripping the paper from their hands. He gave them both icy glares. "My map against your cash."

John gave Sherlock a hard stare and finally the raven-haired man gave a sigh, turning back to their adversary. "Fine, Cabbie, you have yourself a deal." He began to shake the dice in his hands.

"Not with those," Cabbie said suddenly. "This time you will use _my _dice." He held out a pair of plain dice. "Problem?"

Sherlock glanced down at the new dice with little emotion and slowly picked them up. He discreetly shot John an angered glance, who just shrugged weakly.

The taller man began to roll the dice in his hands, shaking his palms and muttering, "I can't believe John is making me do this. It's pure _luck. _Why must Cabbie always do something with _pure luck? _And why do we need a crappy map?"

John was playing Sherlock's violin—not very well—but it seemed to attract the ladies' attention, to which he gave grins. Sherlock didn't even bother to try to get women's attention. Relationships weren't his area.

"Stop!" the raven-haired man finally spat at the blonde, who immediately ceased his music. Sherlock took a deep breath. "Show me seven."

He threw out the dice, which tumbled on the ground. The first landed on a three, but the other, surprisingly, continued to roll on its edge. Everyone leaned forward, watching with interest. Sherlock didn't show any but on the inside he was buzzing with thrill. They needed the money, that much was obvious, but he loved not knowing what was about to happen. The one thing he can't truly predict.

The dice fell.

Four.

"It's seven," Sherlock murmured incredulously.

"Brilliant!" John cheered.

John cheered and scooped up the map. Still rushed with adrenaline, Sherlock stooped down and began to pick up his money when his dice rolled out of his coat's pocket. It rolled to be five and two, like they always do.

Cabbie knelt down and flicked one of the dice, which landed, again, on five. Same thing with the other dice. The same numbers. "I knew it!" he roared, looking up. Sherlock quickly picked up the dice, taking a step back. "Your dice are loaded!"

Sherlock ripped the bow of the violin from his grip, stopping John from playing the instrument, which he had begun to play. He thought fast, trying to think of a way to get out of this. The answer came to him immediately. "You . . . You gave me loaded dice?" He began to back away from John, accusation spread across his features.

He accidentally bumped into one of the police officers which had been patrolling the area: Donovan, an African-American woman who had never particularly liked the duo.

"He gave me loaded dice!" Sherlock cried to her. "Arrest him!" He pointed at John.

"You dare to . . . _impute _my _honor?_" John murmured, immediately picking up what his friend was beginning. "He was the one who was cheating! Guards, arrest _him!_" He gave Sherlock a shove for good measure. "He tricked these people and took their money!"

"Now I'm the thief?" Sherlock growled, trying to hide his eye roll by John's choice of words.

"Yes."

"Take a look in the mirror!" He stepped away a few paces.

"You'd better give them their money back or—en guard!" John took out the gun he had on him at all times, pointing it at Sherlock. He didn't like pulling a weapon on his friend, but he knew what they were going to do.

"En guard yourself," Sherlock hissed, reaching into his pocket. "I'll give you the pleasure of a quick and painless death!" He whipped out the bow of the violin he had taken from his friend just moments before. His eyes narrowed with distaste. "Not with that," he muttered, tossing it aside. He withdrew his own gun and pointed it at John. "Now we may fight fairly."

They walked in circles before each other, like men getting ready to wrestle.

"Last words?" Sherlock challenged.

"I'll shoot you like Swiss cheese."

"Such mediocrity. Let your _gun _do the talking!"

"It will be loquacious to a pulp!" He gave a slight nod and Sherlock moved just as he fired a round, the bullet whizzing past his shoulder. The crowd who had been watching gave a shout of surprise and backed away.

Sherlock knocked back the safety on his own gun, giving an amused grin. He surged forward at John and the blonde jumped back and to the side, avoiding the firing of the gun from his friend and landed on the table, keeping a hearty grin on his face. They shouted insults at each other, back and forth as they worked their way up onto a roof of a house.

"You fight like my sister!" John shouted.

"I fought your sister," Sherlock answered simply. "That's a compliment!"

As John was just about to fire off another round at Sherlock, the tiles of the roof gave way and he fell onto his butt, the bullet whizzing over his head, luckily. The raven-haired man had to improvise and gave John a head's up before he shot again by his leg, which avoided him, luckily.

"Not the face!" Sherlock hissed as he rolled away from another shot into the roof.

Finally John swung his foot around, knocking the gun from Sherlock's hand and scooped it up into his own. The crowd gave a gasp as John pointed both at Sherlock.

Just as suddenly the tall man jumped to his feet, looking at them. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've decided it's a draw."

"Thank you all for coming. You were great; see you soon!" John threw the guns back at Donovan and they hopped back, off the roof, and out of sight.

They landed laughing on the ground, grinning at each other and snickering. Their laughter was cut short by a deep growling. They froze and slowly looked behind them to see a giant black hound with glowing red eyes snarling at them with sharp teeth.

"Did you put sugar in my coffee again?" John whispered.

"No."

"Then what is this . . .?!"

Sherlock paused for a moment. "Something new."

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**And this is where that chapter ends! I hope you enjoyed it. It was very hard to change the characters because Sherlock is so ****_unlike _****Tulio. John is reasonably like Miguel though. If you'd like you all can make guesses as to who the rest of the characters are going to be! I hope you enjoy the rest of the chapters and reviews are very much appreciated!**


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